Polish and Preserve
by Rivetting Silence
Summary: It was just one of those things. Sasori believed in the beauty of eternity, but when Deidara looked at him, he would always think otherwise. 'It was self corruption' T For safety. [Implied SasoDei][TwoPart]


"Danna…" the younger missing-nin chided. "How do you paint your nails?" he eyed the brim of his nails innocently. Said Danna was fiddling with a new accessory to his puppet casing; another cartridge of poison for the left leg.

"You paint them," he said plainly.

"I thought that was obvious…un." The blonde murmured, eying the bottle of dark ink. It was weird. Why the group needed to drench their fingernails in a morbid attempt at looking sophisticated, he couldn't quite figure out why. He sighed out loud.

"Two coats."

"What?" the younger nin turned around to see the back of his superior, still turned to him. He frowned at his new partner's neglect. "Hey, turn around when you're talking to me, it's rude! Un."

"You paint over your nails in one thin layer first," Sasori ignored the younger one's wining. "And then when it dries, paint it over again. Do a third coat if you want."

Click.

The cartridge was snapped in place, and almost immediately, the shorter nin set the puppet down delicately, and stood up. He turned around and walked towards the blonde, glaring at him almost.

"…what?" he asked.

"I'll do it for you this time. You might mess it up." The younger nin felt scrutinized.

"I—I can _do_ it myself!" he snapped, holding the bottle away from the other nin, as if it was his baby.

"Today will be your first interrogation from the Leader, correct?" Sasori tilted his head to the side, standing over the younger blonde.

"…I thought it was an interview." The inquiry was ignored, as his superior sat beside him.

"As your partner, having you make an ugly impression would get me into trouble." Deidara flinched slightly. Did he have to use such a crude word? "Give me your hands." He said, taking them before he could respond.

Deidara snorted in defeat. It wasn't so bad; at least he _was_ his superior, and not some other bossy-pants member. He looked at his Danna, gave him a funny face as he eyed him.

His short, underdeveloped body was bare from head to toe. It didn't bother Deidara anymore, it didn't to begin with; Sasori was puppet from the stomach down, save for some remaining tissue in his thighs.

He imagined the intense pain Sasori must've went through to _eternalize _himself. When his thoughts wandered to how it must've felt between the legs, he shuddered at the thought. Sasori's dull grey eyes turned to him.

"Stay still." He said blandly. "Or I'll make a mistake." Deidara snorted inwardly; no he wouldn't, he just didn't want him fidgeting. When Sasori continued his work on the younger male's nails, he continued to stare.

Sasori's complexion was unscathed, looking so pure and innocent at first glance, at least when he wasn't sitting in his puppet. He grimaced when he thought it over.

The eyes, the nose, the cherry red lips and rosy cheeks... it was like looking at a porcelain doll.

He was just a baby.

"Fourteen."

"Huh?" Deidara was snapped out of thought when Sasori spoke. "I'm sorry?"

There was a pause.

"I was fourteen when my hormones stopped working." Deidara cringed. He was so young. He let the thought subside and scoffed.

"Does this _art_ of yours really need so much…_masochism_, Danna?" he questioned.

Yes, from day one, the two would always argue about the same thing time and time again. What was art, what was its purpose and when was its expiration date.

For Deidara, art would be a single moment of beauty. It was flower that bloomed for a single moment, and then withered away the next. Art is a bang.

Sasori was just the opposite. To him, art was a single moment, transfixed into a time-stopped image. It was a moment captured in eternal resonance. Art is eternal beauty.

There was a pause as he stopped in mid-stroke.

"… Now look what you made me do."

"Huh?"

"Your four-finger won't be evenly painted anymore." he said coolly, trying to fix it. Huh, he didn't want to get to the subject apparently.

The next few minutes were sought in silence. The blonde decided to imagine a conversation—it was taking way too long. Sasori was treating it like such a delicate procedure. _Jeese._

He was still curious; why would a person go through so much to preserve his existence? If he were so desperate, would he really have joined the Akatsuki? Was he forced into it like he was? It didn't seem like it.

To preserve a person's body into puppetry was like replacing your teeth with filling. No matter how normal it looked, no matter how natural—how _real_ it looked… it just wouldn't be the same.

He watched those delicate hands of the older ninja's gently paint over his own. They were thin, dainty—graceful if it were. They looked delicate, fragile—breakable by any means. Sasori was indeed, good with his hands.

He felt their warmth, felt the heat the emanated from his finger-tips. It was real, he mused. They were still real. His brow furrowed, noting that soon enough, that would change. _But your hands are so beautiful._

"…What?"

The blonde's head jerked up. How long had he been day-dreaming?

"S—sorry, I was just thinking. You said something?"

"No. _You_ did." Sasori retorted, giving Deidara an odd look. He blinked; _did I say that out loud?_

"W…" he paused, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. What else was there to say? Was he supposed to justify what he said, or just repeat it?

"What'd you say?" Oh, well there we go.

"Err…" either way he couldn't respond. The sand-nin looked from the blonde, to his hand and back again. His gaze went downward.

"They're not…" he said blandly. "Not yet." Deidara looked at him, again a quizzical look. "These hands…" he said slowly, lifting them up, examining them, scrutinizing the tiny scars only he seemed to see. "They're imperfect. They're… not…" he trailed off.

Deidara watched him, transfixed on his hands, turning them as if a showcase. He looked perturbed at himself.

"You know…" The blonde leaned back, waving his now painted right hand back and forth, supported by his left. "Artificial is like being a cripple, you're not relying on the balls your mom gave you… if you know what I mean. Un."

Sasori gave his inferior a funny look. The younger nin could only look back, unable to read the look on his face.

"What?"

The red-haired ninja shook his head. "I wasn't asking for your opinion." Deidara grimaced.

"I know." Was it calling him a cripple or artificial? "Sorry." He said blandly, starting to take an interest in the bedpost suddenly.

There was a comfortable silence.

"A puppet…"

"Sorry?"

"… my mother and father…" he said, "They were puppets when I last saw them." He looked upwards. "But I still thought she was pretty." The blonde stared at him for a moment, slightly bewildered.

_Oh, so _that's _what I said._

"Un," he uttered, and smiled bitterly. "Don't know mine," he said blankly, eying his nails as they dried.

"That's good." He said. Deidara looked up at the red-haired nin incredulously. "That way, if you don't know them, how could you miss them…" he turned his silvery-gray eyes to metallic blue ones. "Right?" The nin smiled curtly.

Deidara blinked, curling his hair behind his ear, as a gentle pang squeezed his abdomen. The sand-nin had tried to comfort the blonde at his own expense.

What the hell?

There was another silence as Sasori scratched idly at a chip of wood on his ankle.

"Come here. I need to paint your left h—."

"Is it painful?"

This time, it was the superior to look quizzical. He didn't make a sound, _expecting_ the blonde to answer his question fully.

"I mean…" He paused to think it over, "thinking about your parents. Un. You'd remember them forever wouldn't you? You'd be hurting forever, un." He scratched his cheek and frowned. Sasori's eyes widened slightly—face _somewhat_ impassive.

"Danna?"

"… Give me your hand; I want to finish as soon as possible." He took the inferior's hand, and gently dipped the brush into the dark liquid, dabbing it on the brim of the bottle.

"…"

"I hope you're observing what I'm doing. I'm only doing this for you once." He murmured. "You have to take responsibility, boy."

Deidara scoffed. "I _am_ responsible. Un."

"I'm sure you are." His Danna smiled curtly. The blonde stuck out his tongue. The rest of the procedure continued in a comfortable silence.

Deidara smiled at himself. "Sasori no Danna?"

There was a silence, but he knew he was listening.

"Eternity _sucks_." The red-haired ninja gave him a look of surprise, which withered away quickly.

"…Right hand. Give it to me." Deidara grinned as he complied.

_Then again…_

He would've liked to sit in comfortable silence for the rest of his days with the red-haired ninja, just sitting there, in the empty landscape of insignificant things, maybe with a brush, and a little bottle of nail-polish. Maybe forever wasn't such a…

_No. That's not it._

He looked at his master, frowning a bit. His eyes were bland. They were… almost lifeless—almost, not quite…

_If that's what it means…_

Sasori was corrupted, more-so than himself. To… to intentionally ravish your body, and replace it with scraps of wood… It was just… it was…

_I don't get it_

What was so pleasing—so beautiful—so _artistic_ about preservation? Everything had to have an end, hell the world was going to explode when it reached its prime wasn't it?

"Wouldn't it be lonely?" Deidara finally inquired. Sasori gave him a look, as he finished painting his index finger with a gentle flick. The clay-ninja grinned a bit, "Everyone would drop dead, while you still don't look a day over—un!" a finger was placed over his lips. Silenced, Sasori gave him a cynical look.

"Not another word. Understand?" He ordered, "I choose my own path, and you, your own."

"…Understood…un…" Deidara murmured. He'd ruined the moment without realizing it; Sasori painted his thumb with much less delicacy and more haste, and left without a word when he'd finished.

The blonde bit his lip, if he hadn't said anything, it would've been better that way; he didn't even get any information from asking. It was pointless.

He took a deep breath and sighed, sliding down his bedside.

He didn't approve of corruption of the body or anything unnatural touching or replacing his body. It was gross. It was false. What Sasori saw, whatever it was…

He felt that he'd never learn soon enough, and when the day came that he met the Nine-tails…

Being right was a pain sometimes.


End file.
